MIC

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I imagine her waves, before I enter 

like hands softly caressing the sand of the shore 

They ease their way towards my feet 

And we meet each other halfway 

"I took it at Dr. Hari Singh Sevak Senior Secondary School in Kotkapura, Punjab (school named after my Nana ji, maternal grandfather in my mom's hometown)"

Punjab. Literally the land of five rivers. . . or, well, it used to be. You see, even the name of our homeland brings pain these days. How can I tell you the pain of Punjab? Quite honestly, it is a pain that I can hardly even understand.

Procreate illustration
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The other day, I wore a black button down shirt. It was quite simple, with no extra embroidery or anything, just an ordinary black button down. Well, maybe there’s one exception. My buttons were on the left side. Yep, that’s right folks. I wore a men's black button down shirt.

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When the Motherland

Finds Home in

Your mouths,

My heart Beats

as fast

as You Speak.

I Hear

the Sun

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PART 1

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“Paris, Je t’aime.” 

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সুবর্ণা; the color of gold. In Bengali, my mother tongue, pronounced: shoo-born-ah. The name given to me by my parents, recent immigrants to the Western Hemisphere, lovingly gazing down at their firstborn child in this new world.

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My tears flow like yours

As does my blood when you cut me

Tearing the color off my skin

Slicing the culture off my clothes